


Violent Things and Violin Strings

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Angst, Artist Dallon, Basically everyone is a musician, But play different instruments, Cellist Dallon, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violinist Brendon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9684935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dallon is a struggling cellist and artist, moments from losing any and all hope. Brendon is an aspiring violinist, who's the greatest inspiration is Dallon, however, Dallon can't bear to see someone else fail because he's the subject of their inspiration but Brendon is hell bent on following his dream and restoring hope to Dallon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in Denver because I searched up musical cities and Denver's one of them. (Also it's because I live in Colorado and I don't want to rely too heavily on Google.)
> 
> I also wanted a fic where Ryan wasn't an asshole and is Brendon’s bestie.
> 
> I added Ryan Seaman because he and Dal are friends and because I wanted Seaman and Ross to be friends to make shit confusing.

**Dallon, 10:30**

 

Dallon woke up to the sound of his phone’s ringtone of some old jazz song. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up, taking his phone off the charger as he looked at the caller ID. It was Breezy. He sighed and answered the call, letting out a groggy “hello?”

“You’re awake,” Breezy said, sounding a bit surprised. 

Dallon hummed a response and ran a hand through his hair, getting out of bed. He noticed there was still dried paint on his hands and arms. 

“Listen, can I come over? I need to tell you something,” Breezy asked. 

“Can’t you tell me over the phone?” Dallon asked, making his way to the bathroom. 

He heard Breezy sigh on the other line. “It’s better if I tell you in person.”   
“Alright.”   
“I’ll be there in a few,” Breezy hung up the phone. 

 

Dallon locked his phone and placed it on the sink counter, turned on the tap and started to brush his teeth, cleaning up. He splashed off his face with water and stripped down, throwing his old clothes in the hamper, stepping into the shower and turned on the water, standing under the flow of warm water. He leaned his head back and shook out some of the water, getting some body wash that Breezy had got him a few weeks ago, and started scrubbing the paint off his arms and washed off the rest of his body and his hair with some more stuff Breezy got him. 

 

A few minutes later, he got out of the shower and dried off with a fluffy blue towel that was another gift that Breezy got him. Come to think of it, the majority of small amenities in Dallon’s condo was from Breezy. He roughly dried off his hair and put on a pair of boxers and sweats that were on the toilet seat from last night. Yawning, he grabbed his phone and slipped his phone into his pocket, leaving the bathroom just as the doorbell rang. 

 

Dallon opened the door and let Breezy in, who gave a sheepish smile, and set down a couple bags of stuff on the island. “What’d you want to talk about?” Dallon asked.

Breezy’s arms fell to her sides and she turned around dramatically. “You.”    
“What about me?”   
“You’re falling down the same path you did when you were in college,” Breezy said quietly, taking Dallon’s hand and sat down on the plush gray couch. 

“You think I’m depressed?” Dallon asked. 

Breezy gave a sad sigh and nodded. “You’re not making as much music as you used to, and… I’m worried about you.”   
“I appreciate it, but I’m fine,” Dallon insisted. 

“That’s what you said in college when you were breaths away from starvation, and you refused any sort of help. I got a call from your realtor, you're late on your rent.”   
Dallon sighed. “ _ I’m fine _ . I swear.”

Breezy gave Dallon a sad look. “I’m picking up your rent.” Dallon opened his mouth to complain but Breezy interrupted him. “No buts, I’m taking your goddamn rent,” Breezy said. 

“Fine,” Dallon gave in. 

Breezy nodded and studied Dallon’s left hand. “You haven’t played in a while. Your calluses are gone.”   
“I’ve been painting,” Dallon lied. 

“Right. Sure. Why don’t you go downtown? Try to find some inspiration somewhere?” Breezy suggested. 

“You want me to go downtown? With a bunch of potheads and prostitutes?” Dallon asked.

Breezy smiled and rolled her eyes. “That’s Colfax, idiot. I meant  _ downtown _ , like the sixteenth street mall.”   
“Technically there are potheads everywhere, it’s  _ Colorado _ ,” Dallon muttered. 

Breezy thought for a moment. “Well, yeah, but you can find inspiration somewhere!”   
“Like what?”   
Breezy faltered. “Other musicians, graffiti, young love?” She suggested. 

Dallon rolled his eyes and smiled. “If I go will you shut up about it?”   
The other nodded, grinning. “Now put on something more decent, jeez,” she teased, standing up, ruffling Dallon’s still damp hair. 

Dallon childishly stuck out his tongue and made his way to his room and the unnecessarily large walk-in closet, throwing on a black t-shirt, a gray trench coat, and blue jeans. It’s Denver, with gloriously bipolar weather, and was probably around seventy degrees, but Dallon was willing to suffer. He liked the trench coat. 

 

Dallon went into his music room and looked around. Everything was still in the same place, cellos were lying on the side or on a stand, with bow’s strewn across the room and sheet music was all over the floor. He sighed and went to pick up his Stradivari Marylebone. It’s not the original, but a remarkable copy of the original, with a beautiful redwood gloss stain, with neat and intricate designs on the side of the body, the scroll, and the bow. He got the black fabric case and placed the cello inside the velvet along with the bow. He closed the case and zipped it up, picking up the sheet music that was scattered all around the room and placed it in the back pocket. He folded up the black music stand in the corner and put it in the case that was on the floor and left the room with the cases. 

 

He got his keys from the black coffee table and looked over to the kitchen, seeing Breezy putting groceries into the refrigerator and smiled fondly, before leaving the house. 

  
  


The sixteenth street mall was close enough to walk to, and it was a nice day, so he didn’t really mind walking ten minutes to get to his favorite spot to play when he had first started; Little Owl Coffee. It gave him time to enjoy the scenery, the buildings, and the environment. A few people smiled and waved at him, and he waved back. He slung the stand case strap over his shoulder and moved the cello over to his right hand, clutching the handle. The more he walked, the more anxious he was getting. He hasn’t played in weeks, what if he messed up? Get publicly humiliated? Dallon let out a shuddery breath and ran his hand through his hair. 

_ ‘What would Breezy say?’ _ Dallon asked himself.  _ ‘She would say “just play, Dal, don’t think about it!”’ _ A small smile made its way on Dallon’s face, and he continued to the coffee shop.

  
  


* * *

**Brendon, 10:40**

 

Brendon sighed and sat down at the table between the counter and window with Ryan and started stirring his vanilla latte with a spoon. 

“You’re depressed,” Ryan said, tapping his fingers on the smooth wood table. 

“No, I’m not!” Brendon yelled. 

Ryan smirked. “Sure.” 

Brendon groaned and set his head on the table. “I can’t come up with anything. I’m a blank slate.” 

“Why don’t you write a song to that guy you worship?” Ryan teased. 

Brendon swatted at Ryan blindly as the other laughed. “I don’t ‘worship’ him!” 

A barista with blue hair came over and placed Ryan’s hot chocolate on the table before smiling and slipping away behind the counter again. “I checked him out the other day, he’s pretty good.” 

“‘Good?!’ He’s fucking amazing!” Brendon exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. 

Ryan laughed. “He looks more like a bassist than a cellist.”   
“That’s just because you want people to join your band,” Brendon accuses.

Ryan smiled and looked to the counter. “Oh shit.”   
“What?” Brendon asked. 

“Is that him?” Ryan asked, gesturing to a tall guy in a trench coat talking to the barista with the blue hair. 

“Holy mother fuck bitch it is,” Brendon gasped. 

Ryan laughed again. “Damn, you’re such a fangirl. Go talk to him!” 

“No, I can’t, he’s basically Elvis!” Brendon yelled through grit teeth. 

“Alright then, miss the one chance for you to ever talk to your idol,” Ryan said, sipping his hot chocolate. 

Brendon took a deep breath and was about to say something, but man left. “Fuck,” he muttered. 

Ryan cringed and pat Brendon’s back sadly. “Sorry man.” 

Blue-hair came back to them, smiling. “You guys know Dallon?” He asked.

“Brendon does,” Ryan said before Brendon could say anything. In response, Brendon gave the murder glare to Ryan.

Blue-hair nodded. “Well he’s playing outside, so if you want to listen you can.”   
Brendon perked up again. “Shit really?”   
Ryan looked behind him. “Yeah, he’s got his cello out.”   
Brendon stood up, almost knocking down the stool and ran out, leaving Ryan and his latte. 

“Little motherfucker,” Ryan muttered. “Thanks, uh…” 

Blue-hair chuckled. “Ryan.” 

Ryan (Ross) faltered and laughed. “Wow, really? My name’s Ryan too!” 

Ryan (blue-hair) laughed as well. “Well this is going to get confusing for your friend.”    
Ryan (Ross) nodded. “Well, I should go out, Brendon’s going to freak.”   
Ryan (blue-hair) nodded. “You want these?” He pointed at the drinks. 

“Yeah, we’ll be back,” Ryan (Ross) said, giving a small wave before exiting the shop and spotted Brendon, jumping up and down to look over the crowd of people before slipping between the people. Ryan sighed and followed. 

 

Brendon had pushed his way through a crowd of people and saw Dallon with his stunning Stradivari cello, and almost screamed. He’s never used the Stradivari for public situations, only YouTube. Dallon finished the warm-up, let out a deep breath, and started playing The Swan, from “Carnival of the Animals,” the song that got Brendon into orchestra in the first place. Instantly, more people crowded around, listening the the gorgeous piece, and some people started recording, but Brendon didn’t want to record it. He wanted to live in this moment, not stare at it behind a phone screen, but stand there, swooning, two feet away from  _ Dallon motherfucking Weekes _ , the best god damn cellist, in Brendon’s opinion. Dallon’s eyes were closed, he seemed really peaceful, cello resting in between his legs and the closed case to his side, gracefully pulling the bow along the strings and pressing his fingers down for different notes, making the most perfect, melodious sounds that Brendon has ever heard.    
  
The song finished, and the people clapped while Brendon stood there, with a perpetual look of awe on his face until Ryan snapped him out of it. “Holy fuck that was amazing!” Brendon exclaimed.    
Ryan nodded in agreement. “Talk to him before he leaves again, now’s your chance,” Ryan smiled, gently pushing Brendon towards Dallon who was packing up as the crowd dispersed and went back to what they were doing or going to do before he had started playing. Brendon took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Excuse me?” He asked, messing with his hands. 

Dallon looked up but didn’t say anything. 

“U-um, I’m a huge fan of your works, and I just wanted to say, you did amazing,” Brendon complemented, heart racing. 

Dallon looked surprised but smiled nonetheless. “Really? I didn’t think I did that well,” he admitted, closing the case and running a hand through his hair.    
“It’s true! You were amazing!” Brendon said. 

Dallon gave a small smile. “Thanks.”   
Brendon nodded, looking behind him. Ryan was giving Brendon the ‘fucking tell him or I’m going to kick your ass’ look. Brendon braced himself once more. “You’ve actually inspired me to play the violin,” he blurted out. 

“Really?” Dallon asked.    
Brendon nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not that good.”   
“Anyone can become great, you just have to keep practicing. I know it’s cliche, but it’s true,” Dallon told Brendon. “But don’t base your whole life on it, you’ll get ruined,” he whispered the last part.

“W-what do you mean?” Brendon asked. Ryan took it as his cue and slipped back into the coffee shop. 

Dallon let out a sad sigh. “I’m not that ‘amazing’ cellist that you see on YouTube and all that, I’m not that great. I based my whole life on this and I deeply regret it. It sucks the soul out of you. I can’t let that happen to someone else, especially a fan,” Dallon said, feeling worse and worse with each word as Brendon got sadder and sadder. 

By the time Dallon was finished, Brendon was almost in tears. “How can you say that about yourself?!” He yelled, any bit of nervousness was blown away. “You’re fucking amazing! Whoever says you’re not is a deaf asshole!”   
Dallon blinked and sighed. “You can become great, kid, but I’m not a good role model,” Dallon said quietly. He stood up. “I’m sorry.” And with that, Dallon left. 

 

Brendon walked into the cafe and sat down next to Ryan, trying not to show that he was devastated, but Ryan easily saw through his facade. He always does.    
“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, sipping his now lukewarm hot chocolate. 

“Dallon,” Brendon simply said.    
“What about him?” Ryan asked, his tone darkened.

“He has like, zero self-esteem and told me that he regrets becoming a cellist,” Brendon muttered. 

“Wow. I thought he was this amazing, happy, charming dude, but I guess not,” Ryan said. 

Brendon hummed and gulped down his latte. “A few years ago he was, his videos showed him playing passionately, he was happy in interviews, and-and he wasn’t like that before,” Brendon let out. 

Ryan didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded and pat Brendon’s head. 

“He’s wrong, he’s amazing, I just don’t understand how he can’t see that,” Brendon muttered. 

“I don’t know, Brendon. I don’t know.”

  
  


* * *

**Dallon, 12:10**

 

Dallon regret what he said to that fan, but left, and wouldn’t know if he was still there, so he just continued home.

 

He opened his front door and saw Breezy rocking back and forth on his couch, curled up in a blanket and eating a tub of ice cream. “You alright?” Dallon asked, closing the door behind him and removing his shoes.

Breezy jumped and paused whatever she was watching and wiped the tears away from her eyes. “I’m watching a movie,” she said. 

Dallon hummed and sat down on the armchair by the windows and set down the cases on the floor. 

“Are  _ you _ alright? You seem sadder than when you left,” Breezy asked, placing the ice cream on the coffee table.

Dallon sighed. “I think I just ruined a kid’s dream.” 

“Oh god, what did you do?” Breezy asked, scooting closer to Dallon.

“I said he shouldn’t base his life on being a musician,” he muttered.

Breezy frowned and reached out to pat Dallon’s knee. “What happened to you? You can tell me.”

Dallon was silent for a while before speaking. “My parents divorced. It’s a stupid thing to have a mental breakdown over, but it’s been hard.”   
“Really? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Breezy asked.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Dallon admitted.

“You worried me, even more, when you just stopped making music,” Breezy said. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, but just tell me when something happens or if something happens to you, alright?” Breezy asked.

Dallon nodded, picked up the cases and walked into his music room, placing the cases down on the floor. What he had said to Breezy was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. He couldn’t tell her that he was depressed, or that the majority of his family had perished in a theater shooting.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah! This happened. If you have anything you want to say, feel free to comment or go ask my Tumblr, precious-tool.
> 
> Dal's house - http://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1020-15th-St-APT-42D-Denver-CO-80202/13319575_zpid/  
> Dal's Stradivarius - http://www.violini-villa.com/exsitomarcellovill.com/axelrodq.htm  
> The Swan - https://youtu.be/b44-5M4e9nI


End file.
